rks, no tell-tale finger rings; that's good," the crafty
villain mused. "He is stone dead now; he will need no watching,"
was the brute's final verdict.

And then he stole cat-like up the stairs to gloat over the contents
of the bank portmanteau. He hastily transferred the ill-gotten
fortune to a heavy black valise and, cutting the rifled portmanteau
in pieces, he sought the furnace-room once more.

There was no sound in the rooms above as the villain toiled on,
but Leah Einstein, closeted there with the drugged woman who had
been used as a fatal decoy, could hear the sound of hammering below.
She fancied that Braun was preparing to escape, having removed
the dazed victim of the knock-out drops by the help of confederates
from the saloon.

It was nearing sunset when Fritz Braun himself brought food and
wine to his frightened accomplice.

He cast a searching glance upon the sleeping beauty and then said
roughly: "Eat and drink. You can surely trust me. The job's done.
The poor fool is miles away now, in a safe place."

But Leah Einstein's pallid lips were silent. She was awed into
a stupor by the haunting presence of an unknown majesty. For the
King of Terrors ruled in the sickening atmosphere of the deserted
mansion house, and Leah feared only for herself now! Braun saw the
woman's helpless terror and so left her alone with her helpless
charge. "I won't need the useless fool to help me," he mused as he
stole away.

A horrible suggestion seized upon him. "Why don't I make sure of
her?" In a few moments his nerve returned.

"She saw nothing. She knows nothing. She thinks I only robbed him,
and she has a neck to save. She shall come to me--over there. But
Irma--she follows her lover, by and by."

It was nine o'clock, the streets were dark and dismal, and a heavy
rain was falling, when a carriage drew up before No. 192 Layte
Street.

The driver was huddled up in his oilskins and scarcely glanced
toward the muffled form of the woman who was tenderly assisted into
the vehicle by the sturdy Leah and her male companion.

As the door closed, Fritz Braun sharply gave the driver his last
injunction. "Follow the express wagon down to Atlantic Basin. I
will ride on it."

Standing on the steps, Braun saw the hackman drive a few doors
away into the shadows of the neighboring houses and halt awaiting
the baggage team. He tightly locked the door on the inside.

"Lucky the front shop was closed for the holidays,"